In My Sister's Shadow (Book 1)

2. Day of Mourning.

Day Two:

Grief turned into rage.

Dad channelled his grief blaming Zayn."That swine!" Dad held his hands behind his back and paced the living room. "This is his fault! What was my daughter doing on the motorway? Where was he? I always knew he wasn't good enough for my daughter."

Dad despised the fact Zayn was a humble Scaffolder. No man would ever be enough for his diamond Zeenat. Having no sons, Dad's lifelong aspiration was for his daughters to take over his thriving estate agency business in Hall Green. As I studied for a business degree, dad wanted Zeenat to study property law and strengthen his business. Dad had our futures mapped out for us, but then Zayn happened.

Zeenat was like a caterpillar until she met Zayn. Once he wrapped his skinny arms around her like a cocoon, she blossomed into a butterfly like a free spirit; to dad's disapproval. Zayn obliterated dad's plans and Zeenat came to the realisation she detested studying, and wanted to travel in a yellow camper van with Zayn and explore Europe.

"Concentrate on your studies! There is plenty of time for marriage." Dad reprimanded.

But Zeenat being the free spirit that Zayn imbued in her, wanted to be free from the debt of academia. She wanted to dance, sing, paint and fall deeply in love. Such was her an infectious joyous soul that anyone could easily fall in love with her. But that was then; today was the day of mourning.

Choosing what to wear wasn't hard as my wardrobe was filled with baggy knee length jumpers, dark and black tones tops which disguised my figure. At 5.3" height, with an hourglass buxom figure, I had been on many fad diets but to no avail. I'd lose few pounds here and there, but couldn't get that rectangle figure which made every dress on Zeenat fit like a glove. My olive skin tone unlike my sister's peachy youthful skin, left me a step behind, existing in her shadow. Zeenat was the fairer one, the prettier one, the slimmer and taller one.

Mum would often share the story of my birth a million times, of how the neighbour mistook me for a 3 month old baby; big boned and chubby. Everyone in the room would laugh at the story but I'd recoil in embarrassment.

"Zohra is the strong one. You will give birth with ease." Mum consoled me. "-But Zeenat, she is a diamond. When she was born the midwives couldn't stop cooing over her. They all wanted a cuddle."

That was Zeenat all over; the one people doted on.

In our living room, women congregated to share their grief and pray for Zeenat's soul. Our room was large and the sofas removed and stored in the guest room. This was the first day of mourning which would continue until the burial of Zeenat's body.

The gloomy room hummed with muted voices, women chanting counting over date seeds. Every kernel represented a prayer, so the more seeds the more prayers for Zeenat's eternal soul. Prayers eased trials and tribulations of the grave; it gave her soul peace in the afterlife. According to the Islamic faith the body of the deceased had to be washed and buried as quickly as possible. The longer the body lay mortuary, the more pain inflicted upon the soul.

The ladies heads were tilted in shock as they shared cherished memories of Zeenat's life. Mum rocked 3 year old Aymaan in her lap in a corner locked in a trance of disbelief. Ayman was the reticent of his siblings. Since I met him at the hospital, he hadn't uttered a single word.

"It feels like it was only yesterday when Zohra and Zeenat would come over and play with my girls." My maternal auntie Sakeena shared a childhood memory. "My oldest son would tease Zohra and call her moti kali dhaal (fat black lentils)" The ladies chuckled politely looking at me as I shrunk with embarrassment. "-and they would tease Zeenat, calling her semiya (vermicelli). Because she was lanky, skinny and fair but Zeenat would get really angry and chase them through the streets. She fast as lightening, Zohra was the slow one."